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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042802">The Long Grey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardinsdeminuit/pseuds/jardinsdeminuit'>jardinsdeminuit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>This War of Mine (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Angst, F/M, Survival, Suspense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:36:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardinsdeminuit/pseuds/jardinsdeminuit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A year into the siege of Pogoren, Mila and her brother Alexi finally find a safe house in which to wait out the rest of the civil war. When Mila runs into a military deserter on a scavenging trip, she is happy to take him in, despite her brother's protests. Little does she know this new arrival means danger for them all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Long Grey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">I</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The door slams shut, and I believe that for the first time in days, we're safe.</p><p class="western">My chest rises and falls as I lean back against the wall and slowly slide down. Before I know it, I've crumpled to the floor. My lungs feel like they've been torn to pieces. Sprinting for a full five minutes will do that to you.</p><p class="western">Looking across at Alexi, I note that he, too, is panting, though at least he's managed to stay on his feet.</p><p class="western">“We did it,” he gasps.</p><p class="western">I smile and throw him an OK sign I don't feel.</p><p class="western">For a minute, no words are spoken. Then Elina, the final member of our group, steps towards the door. From the colour of her cheeks, it seems she's suffered the most out of the three of us from the run.</p><p class="western">“We need to find a way to barricade this.” Her hands fumble with the lock, useless without a key.</p><p class="western">She has a point. While I'm sure nobody saw us enter the house, you can never take too many precautions nowadays.</p><p class="western">“Is there anything we can use, like a chair?” I suggest.</p><p class="western">Alexi leaves the room. Seconds later, he returns with a wooden dining room chair, which he shoves under the handle. He gives the door a shake. It's stuck fast. Perfect.</p><p class="western">“Will it hold?” Elina asks anxiously.</p><p class="western">“It'll hold,” Alexi says with a certainty that makes me believe him. When my brother says something will happen with that tone, it happens. I've never known it otherwise.</p><p class="western">As my breath returns to normal, I push myself to my feet and look around. We're in a cramped, unlit hallway. A set of stairs on the right leads up to a second floor, while a closed door stands at the end of the hall. There's another door on the left, probably connecting a living room or bedroom. Nothing about this house suggests anything out of the ordinary, except for the layer of dust covering the carpet and peeling wallpaper – although those are both normal qualities in today's world.</p><p class="western">A thought niggles at the back of my mind. There's a possibility we're not alone in here.</p><p class="western">I voice my concern to the others and they nod grimly.</p><p class="western">“I'll help you look around,” says Alexi, pulling his Swiss army knife from his back pocket and flicking out the blade. I remind myself it's simply a precaution. Self-protection in case the worst happens.</p><p class="western">“Guard the door,” I say to Elina. She nods, clearly content to stay put.</p><p class="western">It would make more sense to clear the ground floor first, but Alexi heads straight for the stairs. I follow close behind him. The ground creaks beneath our feet, the smell of rot heavy in the air. I have a vision of putting my weight on a step and falling through, breaking an ankle on a piece of jagged wood. The lack of light makes it all the more unnerving.</p><p class="western">Luckily, we reach the landing in one piece. Like the hallway, the space is small and choked with dust. Surely if people were living here, the place would be cleaner, I tell myself, though the thought brings little comfort. You'd be surprised at the conditions some people live in when there's no alternative.</p><p class="western">Dull afternoon light streams in from a window on the right, revealing three identical doors.</p><p class="western">“Lady's choice,” Alexi says to me.</p><p class="western">I feel like I'm on a game show, forced to pick between doors which could hide a prize or send me home with nothing. Only instead of a big red 'X' behind the losing door, it's a trembling civilian with a gun aimed between my eyes.</p><p class="western">For no particular reason, I'm drawn to the middle door.</p><p class="western">I wrap my fingers around the handle while Alexi stands back, knife raised. My heart is in my throat. I take a breath, hen fling open the door.</p><p class="western">Nobody comes running towards us. Nobody starts screaming and plunges a blade into my brother's chest. The room is empty.</p><p class="western">I step inside. This must have been a master bedroom once, but every piece of furniture is gone. There are marks in the wooden floor where a chest-of-drawers, wardrobe and double bed must once have stood. The walls are dark red with a swirling gold pattern.</p><p class="western">“Ugly-ass wallpaper,” Alexi mutters, echoing my thoughts exactly.</p><p class="western">A white sheet lies in the corner near the door. He pushed it with his foot, then jumps back as it reveals the dried-up body of a rat.</p><p class="western">I've never had a problem with rats and mice. My brother, on the other hand, is skittish around rodents.</p><p class="western">“If all we find up here are rats, count yourself lucky,” I say with a smile.</p><p class="western">He grunts in response.</p><p class="western">We clear the other two rooms quickly without encountering either people or animals. The room on the right is a bathroom with a toilet and shower. Of course, both are useless to us as anything more than decoration. On the left is a second, smaller bedroom, though unlike the master bedroom, this one still has most of its furniture. From the pink bedcovers and cream-coloured walls, it's obvious it once belonged to a little girl.</p><p class="western">That drags my mood down more than I thought it would.</p><p class="western">With the whole first floor secured, I walk out onto the landing and allow myself to relax a little. Whoever owned this house is clearly long gone, along with anyone who might have taken refuge since. I'm about to call down to Elina, when Alexi says my name. The tone of his voice sends shivers through me.</p><p class="western">He's standing next to the window in the girl's bedroom, peering through a gap in the curtains. He doesn't move as I come up behind him. I reach out my hand to pull back the curtains, but he swats it away.</p><p class="western">“What is it?” I ask.</p><p class="western">He shoots me an irritated look, as if I've just asked him why the sky is blue. Then he steps aside, allowing me to take his place and look through the gap.</p><p class="western">An empty street. A row of buildings with boarded-up windows. White and grey and brown. A year ago, this would have been a harrowing sight. Now most of the city looks like this.</p><p class="western">“Left,” Alexi mutters. I adjust my view to see what's got him riled up.</p><p class="western">My blood runs cold.</p><p class="western">Prowling down the centre of the street is a pair of men. Their eyes scour the buildings, searching each window and doorway for signs of life. The taller of the two flaunts a shotgun in his hands.</p><p class="western">Bandits. The ones we tried to steal from. The ones who chased us to this neighbourhood and forced us to take refuge in this house.</p><p class="western">They've followed us.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">II</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Two, three weeks. A month at the most. That's how long they said the siege would last in the beginning.</p><p class="western">It's been almost a year to the day since the city of Pogoren was cut off from the rest of the world.</p><p class="western">I won't go into details. All war is the same when you strip back the names, after all. A does something B doesn't like. B tries to crush A. Fighting breaks out and we, the civilians, are the ones who suffer.</p><p class="western">My mother lived through World War II. She used to tell me that never again would the world repeat the horrors of that war. A year ago, I'd have believed her. Now I know it to be a lie.</p><p class="western">Nobody panicked when the Vyseni rebels rose up against the government. The day armed protestors stormed the town hall, my mother laughed. “Good for them,” she said as the news came in over the radio. “Maybe after that, they can fix the potholes on our road.”</p><p class="western">I was still working shifts in my local pub back then. I knew most of the regulars by name – middle-aged men, mostly, people who had nothing else to do of their evenings but sit around a table and drink.</p><p class="western">“About time they do something,” grumbled an old man called Erik that same evening as I was pouring his pint. “We regular people are being screwed out of our finances. You know, I went to the pharmacy yesterday for my medication, and it cost me thirty marks, up from twenty-five! It's daylight robbery is what it is.”</p><p class="western">I remember using marks. Back when numbers printed on pieces of paper actually meant something.</p><p class="western">When banks closed a few months later, you still had people stockpiling money. It didn't take long for them to realise that bank notes were useless for anything but kindling.</p><p class="western">That evening was the last time I ever saw Erik. A few of the regulars said he panicked and moved to the countryside with his daughter and her husband. If he did, he was one of the smart ones. Not like me. I stayed and pretended everything was normal.</p><p class="western">Six days later, that 'normal' was turned upside down.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">III</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">We spend the rest of the daylight hours going through the house, acquainting ourselves with the rooms and scraping together what materials we can. Then, when dusk arrives, we gather in the living room around the light of our oil lamp and take stock.</p><p class="western">The pile of resources – if we can even call it a pile – is pathetically small. There are some empty glass bottles, a bag of nails, a plastic bucket, some kitchen utensils and a few other odds and ends nobody would think to take with the if they were fleeing. Very little of it is useful, that's for sure.</p><p class="western">“Did you check the whole kitchen?” Elina asks hopefully.</p><p class="western">I nod. The kitchen at the end of the hall is a depressing affair, stripped bare of every bit of food and most of its fittings. The stove is gas-powered, but with the tank empty and no back-ups to be found, it's as useless to us as the shower and toilet.</p><p class="western">The kitchen window looks out onto a garden with a small patio, overgrown grass and high fences. About an hour ago, Alexi and I managed to force open the back door to have a look around. At the end of the garden is a wooden outhouse. The smell is gut-churning, but it's a step up from using the bucket.</p><p class="western">Sighing, I learn back onto my hands. There's a perfectly good sofa to my left that Elina has settled herself onto, but I've already refused her offer to join her. Sitting on the carpet with my brother feels more natural nowadays. It's what we've grown used to.</p><p class="western">The living room is the biggest room in the house and the only one that feels a suitable place to spend any amount of time in. Shoved into the back corner is a dining room table and a set of chairs, minus the one Alexi used to block the door earlier. Another has been smashed to pieces, probably for firewood, before being abandoned in a pile. A few pins where photo frames must have hung once stick out from the wall, and at the front of the room, left of the door that leads to the hall, is a bay window with a curved seat. Luckily, whoever was here before us has taken the initiative to board it up from the inside, blocking us off from the outside world and anyone who might look in.</p><p class="western">My favourite part is the the wood-burning stove set into the wall. There's no way we'll be able to use it anytime soon – the smoke would give away our position – but it's a nice homely touch, something that makes this place feel like less of a husk and more of a home that people once lived in.</p><p class="western">“We can't stay here,” says Alexi.</p><p class="western">Elina looks at him. “Why not?”</p><p class="western">“It's not safe. We need to keep moving.”</p><p class="western">Elina looks like she's just been personally insulted. “But we've searched everything. Those bandits walked straight past us earlier. Nobody knows we're here.”</p><p class="western">While I'm as relieved as she is that the pair of bandits don't appear to know we've taken refuge here, I know that's not what my brother means. The house is empty, yes, but it's obviously been picked clean several times. Scavengers have been here recently, and they will continue to come here as long as the siege lasts. In the year we've been on our own, Alexi has always kept us on the move, making sure we never spend more than one or two nights in each location.</p><p class="western"><em>The longer you spend in each place, the harder it is to uproot yourself,</em> he told me once. Looking back, it's probably one of the reasons we've survived this long.</p><p class="western">“Doesn't matter. We're not staying,” says Alexi.</p><p class="western">As the newest addition to our group, Elina knows better than to argue back, but that doesn't stop her from pouting like a child.</p><p class="western">I reach out and touch my brother lightly on the back of the hand. “Perhaps we should sleep on it. We're safe tonight, aren't we?”</p><p class="western">Alexi thinks for a moment, then nods. “There are cracks in the landing window and the back door doesn't lock properly. One of us will need to stand guard.”</p><p class="western">I give him a smile and rub his hand in thanks, knowing that I'm one of the only people in the world he'll allow to do so.</p><p class="western">Elina grunts. “Fine.”</p><p class="western">For dinner, I delve into my backpack and take out a tin of sausages in brine, looted from an abandoned supermarket the week before, while Alexi wolfs down a can of mackerel. I'm happy to share my portion with Elina, since she tells me she hasn't got any food of her own. What I don't tell her is that once it's finished, I only have one tin left. Then it's back to starving.</p><p class="western">I spot her eyeing my backpack as she eats. Quickly, I move it around with my leg until it's on the other side of my body, out of sight. Her eyes drop back down to the food.</p><p class="western">I may not have a lot of possessions in my bag, but they're the only things I own in the world.</p><p class="western">Once we're all finished eating, we have a short discussion about who is to sleep where. We agree that Elina, being the one who isn't related, will take the upstairs bedroom, while I'll sleep on the sofa. Alexi will stand first watch, and I'll take over halfway through the night.</p><p class="western">It doesn't escape my notice that Elina doesn't offer herself up for guard duty.</p><p class="western">Alexi waits until she's upstairs before turning to me. “Do you trust her?”</p><p class="western">I think for a few seconds. “I don't know,” I say truthfully. “She doesn't seem dangerous.”</p><p class="western">Yet as soon as the words are out, I regret them. If there's something the two of us can count on, it's that often the most dangerous people are the ones you least suspect.</p><p class="western">I try to put the thought out of my mind. There's a time for paranoia, and this isn't it. Besides, there are two us and one of her. She'd be stupid to try anything funny.</p><p class="western">Alexi takes a torch out from his duffel bag, winds it vigorously a few times and turns it on, almost blinding me. The light illuminates his gaunt cheeks, dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. He was strong once, a swimmer, but like everyone else, the war has taken its toll on him both mentally and physically.</p><p class="western">“Stay safe,” I say. It's a pointless line: 'safe' is no more than an abstract concept nowadays. But he smiles all the same.</p><p class="western">“Always do,” he replies, and with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.</p><p class="western">Alone in the living room, I feel a chill come over me. The lamp burns softly at my feet, the dim glow creating long shadows that reach into the darkness at the edges of the room. I open up my backpack and take out my green and blue tartan blanket, lie down on the sofa and wrap myself up.</p><p class="western">I have about five hours to sleep before Alexi wakes me for guard duty.</p><p class="western">I picture him alone in that kitchen, Swiss army knife in hand. My little brother, the only family I have left. I wonder if he's reading one of the books he insists on lugging around with him in his duffel bag. His appetite the written word is one thing the war doesn't seem to have dampened.</p><p class="western">A creaking sound that's probably Elina makes its way through the ceiling. I strain my ears, trying to work out if she's up or simply finding a comfortable position in bed. My arms tighten around my backpack.</p><p class="western">In the distance, a volley of gunshots rings out. Even in this quiet corner of Pogoren, it's a common sound.</p><p class="western">The creaking stops upstairs stops. Silence falls once more.</p><p class="western">Turning over onto my side, I lick my finger and thumb, reach for the lamp and snuff out the flame. Then I close my eyes and think of nothing until sleep takes me.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">IV</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Everyone remembers where they were when Gravia was bombed.</p><p class="western">Me, I was round my friend Ema's house when her dad walked in from the garage, holding the dusty radio he listened to while tinkering with his car. No words were exchanged between us. He placed it on the table, volume turned up high, and we all sat and listened.</p><p class="western">The voice that rattled from the speakers was that of a young male reporter, and while his tone was calm, you could hear the panic he was trying to suppress. He described what he was seeing: buildings on fire, civilians fleeing as the army moved in with their guns and mortars. In the background, we all heard screaming, gunshots, shouting, explosions.</p><p class="western">Gravia, the little farming village on the eastern border of Pogoren, had never seemed so close in that moment.</p><p class="western">I ran the half a mile back to my house to find my mother and Alexi standing in the kitchen, the same awful sounds coming through our radio. Alexi's face was a shade off white. My mother was crying.</p><p class="western">It was mere days before the Milita came to the capital and the siege began. We were spared the absolute obliteration that happened to Gravia, although I've heard people say it would've been better if the city <em>had</em> been razed to the ground. At least then we would all have died quickly instead of being slowly suffocated in this siege.</p><p class="western">For many, the moment that first bomb hit Gravia was the moment the war began.</p><p class="western">Ema was one of the first to die. I visited her house in the first month with Alexi to discover her front door knocked down. I'd had hopes she'd managed to run away with her family until I looked out of the kitchen window onto the three shapes wrapped in blue tarpaulin arranged in a row in the garden. Whoever had looted their house hadn't even bothered to dig them graves.</p><p class="western">To this day, I still don't know whether it was the army or common thugs with guns who murdered my friend. I avoided that street for the next few months.</p><p class="western">Sometimes, witnessing death breaks a person. Other times, it makes them stronger. If there's one thing I've learnt over the last year, it's that humans can adapt to any situation if given no other choice.</p><p class="western">I am one of the few who believes this war will end one day in my lifetime, even as the city crumbles around me. Alexi believes it, too. It's the only thing that keeps up going.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">V</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">When I wake, there's no way of knowing what time it is, only that it's still dark and I'm not alone.</p><p class="western">The door to the hall is open. Straight away, my mind assumes the worst. I slip out from under the blanket, take out the kitchen knife I keep in my backpack and creep over to the door. My heart is pounding. If there's a stranger in the house, at least I'll be able to get the first move on them before they turn around and attack me.</p><p class="western">Silently, I peer out into the hall to see Alexi by the door. My momentary relief at his being alive dissipates as I realise he's crouching, knife in hand. He sees me and places a finger to his lips. Fear is etched across his face.</p><p class="western">Three knocks shake the door.</p><p class="western">“We know you're in there, little mice,” says a mocking voice from the other side. “Come out before we get <em>really</em> angry.”</p><p class="western">My mind races. I don't need to look at Alexi to know that they're the bandits from earlier today. How did they find us? Did someone strike up a light that they saw through the windows, or did someone else see us go in here and sell us out? At once, I think of Elina having something to do with this.</p><p class="western">Alexi beckons me over with his free hand.</p><p class="western">Despite the fear crushing me, I creep over to the door and take a place next to my brother. I turn to the stairs and see the shape of Elina, crouching on the landing, one hand over her mouth as if it's the only thing holding in her scream.</p><p class="western">If she's betrayed us, then she's an excellent actress.</p><p class="western">The door shudders again, harder this time. When the man speaks, his taunting tone has been replaced with anger. “Open the fucking door right now.”</p><p class="western">I hold my breath. The chair is the only thing between us and the bandits. If they tried to kick the door down, it would only be a matter of time before it gave.</p><p class="western">My fingers squeeze the knife, and I find myself wondering which of them is holding the shotgun.</p><p class="western">“Leave it Serg. They're not in this one,” says a second, deeper voice outside the door.</p><p class="western">For a few seconds that seem to stretch out into hours, there's silence. “All right,” the first man, Serg, finally mutters.</p><p class="western">Alexi and I exchange glances. Does this mean they're leaving? It seems too good to be true.</p><p class="western">Pulling away from the door, I creep up the stairs past Elina, who's shrunk even further into the corner, and into the little girl's bedroom. From there, I'm able to look through the crack in the curtains onto the street below. Sure enough, the bandits are outside our front door, dressed in dark colours that make them blend into the night. The one who I assume to be Serg, the shorter one, holds the shotgun over one arm, broken but ready to snap into place and fire at the drop of a hat.</p><p class="western">For a fleeting moment, I think of dropping something onto their heads. It's not a bad idea, except I have nothing heavy to hand and would probably miss anyway.</p><p class="western">The taller man shrugs, and they turn and walk along the street. As they reach the next house along and knock on the door, realisation dawns on me. They never knew for certain we were here. The knocking, the calling out, it was all an act. I watch Serg bang his fist on the door again and place his ear against it, listening for movement inside.</p><p class="western">There was no light, no sound that pulled them here. To the bandits, this is just another empty house on a deserted road in a quiet corner of Pogoren.</p><p class="western">As long as we stay silent and tread carefully, nobody can touch us here. It's far from safe, but it's a start. And after all, what more can any of us ask for in war than a fresh start?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know TWoM doesn't exactly have a huge following, so if you're here, thanks for reading! Since these chapters are longer than what I usually write, I'm aiming to publish one every week or two, with a total of 10-12 chapters, depending on how the story goes. If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment. It's really encouraging. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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